


Quiet Blinding

by Mother_North



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Classical Music RPF, Historical RPF, Music RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Forbidden Love, Guilt, Longing, Mild Smut, One Shot, Psychology, Romantic Era, classical composers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 17:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: A day of Marie’s life with Franz in Geneva.





	Quiet Blinding

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic of mine which I have decided to post anyway.  
> Usual RPF disclaimer applies in full.  
> I am not a native English speaker so I would like to apologize for any possible mistakes in advance.  
> Feedback is appreciated. Hope you'll enjoy!

**

 

Marie woke up. It was a dull grey morning. The sky was overcast - there seemed to be no hope to see the warm rays of the sun that day. There existed only two colors: a ghostly ash-grey and an absorbing black. Everything was still and calm as if some dark magician had enchanted the nature itself. Autumn breathed heavily with cold humid air, damp shreds of fog clenching the black lifeless trees. And it seemed the whole eternity had passed since the glorious placid summer days, though it was only the end of September. The sense of time has lost it’s importance – the major sign of solitude. There were only days and nights changing themselves relentlessly. Nights were always far more preferable, she confessed to herself. Too bad it is quite early now…

 

Looking out of the window didn’t improve her sullen mood. She saw multitude of people hurrying somewhere, thinking only about their miserable affairs connected with earning some trifling sum of money. Their faces showed no emotions nor feelings, even the slightest hint of thought didn’t appear to preoccupy them. Marie turned from the window thinking that, perhaps, sometimes those simple workers were happier than she was, having their plain living organized and planned for days and days to come. But hasn’t she chosen another way? Yes, she has. At times Marie thought that it was the only right decision, but occasionally the thoughts of regret tortured her. How could she leave her precious daughters, there, in Paris? Claire is probably has been told that her dearest mother just has some urgent matters to be done and will be back in a couple of months. Louise is too young to even bother now, but someday she will, asking what could have made her beautiful mother abandon her little children, ruin her perfect marriage and completely lose respect and firm reputation in the eyes of the society. Once, the true Mistress of Paris, Marie used to shine at the balls, stealing men’s hearts and provoking women’s jealous glances. She was adored and worshipped not only for her extreme beauty but also for her wit, aristocratic descent, brilliant education and ability not to violate any of the restrictions of the high society’s moral. Marie played her role excellently always keeping all necessary rules preserved. She even married count Charles D’Agoult who was twice senior but a kindhearted, middle-aged man. And what is more, he loved her devotedly, always taking care of her as if of his own daughter, indulging even the smallest of her wishes and whims. Marie was often annoyed by her husband’s guardianship, as if she wasn’t able to make decisions by her own or didn’t have the right to choose herself. Of course she understood that all Charles wanted was to make her feel protected, comfortable and happy, being assured that the following day would be as cloudless and sunny as the previous one. There is no doubt, that such intentions were the best proof of his profound love for her. But the only feelings Marie used to have towards her husband - were respect and gratitude. Actually, already during the first weeks after the wedding she didn’t have any illusions concerning this subject. She had never loved him, even after giving birth to Claire and Louise.

 

Marie often asked herself why she had agreed to marry count and constantly found the same answer to this inevitable question – because there was no other option, though a lot of men claimed their love to her none of them hurried to offer her a matrimony. Her mother countess D’Flavignni, was very upset over such unfairness, and after all, proposed her Charles as the best possible candidate. Marie didn’t object or perhaps it would be better to say _didn’t bother to object._ Interesting, will Charles ever forgive her delinquency? Marie realized her betrayal in full measure, she stabbed his heart cowardly from behind, killing all of his esteem, admiration and love for her. Afterwards she fled, leaving him only a brief farewell note, asking to look after their children and thanking for all of his greatest care, concern and patience during the last few years. In the eyes of society it was not something to be proud of, to put it mild. Now everyone is sorry for Charles for having suffered from the heartlessness, dissoluteness and ingratitude of his frivolous wife. She is banished forever; she has become a society outcast, deprived of any hope for redemption…

 

Marie, still wearing her silky cream-colored peignoir, went across the room to the mirror which was standing beside the wall. It was grand, allowing to see yourself at the full-height, with a silver frame shining dimly in the morning semi-darkness. She gazed at herself carefully. The reflection she saw reminded not a being of flesh and blood but rather an apparition or a vision. Her skin was pale as marble, it seemed almost transparent, while it remained smooth as velvet to the touch; cascade of unruly locks looked like melting gold covering her refined shoulders, nearly reaching her waist. Her frame was thin, almost fragile but yet indescribably graceful. The delicate features of her face bore the seal of irresistible charm, dignity and beauty. Her big eyes shadowed by long black eyelashes had the shade of rich violet, hiding spectral whim blazing somewhere in the depth of her restless soul. The whole Marie’s air was marked by the coldness of the anguish. Hardly noticeable darkish shadows of melancholy appeared under her eyes. Marie thought to herself that sadness emphasized her attractiveness even more, adding some of the magnetic mysteriousness to it. She admitted she looked absolutely beautiful, as if her agitated and troubled feelings and reflections, which so often visited her lately, found their embodiment in her pensive countenance.

 

Another long day intended for nobody but for herself alone started. Should she go for a walk? Maybe some fresh autumn air will be useful for her health and the sight of other people rushing through their monotonous lives will provide some kind of distraction. Marie hasn’t left the lodging for more than a week already, and she had no desire to do so. All her friends and acquaintances have been left far away in Paris, trying to erase from their memory the very existence of hers. Geneva was completely unfamiliar and strange to her, it differed greatly from impetuous turbulent Parisian rhythm of life, with all of it’s temptations, joys and constant incidents. The only linking chain to Marie’s former life was a woman under the name of Aurora Dudevan, a popular writer better known to a world as George Sand. But the last response from her was dated more than three weeks ago. It did hurt Marie badly because she found at least some sort of comfort and joy in their correspondence, relieving all of her sorrows, sharing her hopes and dreams. But lately Marie felt that the connection between them weakened, they no more were as close to each other as they used to be in the past. She couldn’t find any reasonable explanation for such estrangement in their friendly relationships. Aurora unlike others has never criticized or condemned Marie’s behavior, but furthermore tried to support and justify her. They were always on very good terms and their friendship meant a lot to Marie. Marie considered Aurora her senior sister and mentor, openly admiring and secretly imitating her independence and boldness, often taking eccentric writer’s views and judgments for the ones of her own.

 

Marie cast a glance at a big black varnished pianoforte, standing lonely in the corner of the room. Great amount of piles of musical scores being thrown in disorder on the floor, everywhere around it. Strangely, the grand piano looked so pathetic and pitiful without its _Master_ , just a piece of wood, dead and useless while deprived of the inspiration and inner fire of the true artist.

 

“Just like me”, Marie thought to herself.

 

He was gone just for a couple of hours but they seemed like an eternity to her. Sometimes her invincible, insurmountable attraction to him frightened Marie with its strength. She has become addicted, possessed, wholly dependent on a violent passion she felt for him. There was no place in her heart for something else except for the overwhelming feeling of love and adoration for her sweetheart. When he was around her, Marie needed nothing more in the earthly world, being succumbed and fascinated completely by his extraordinary, magnetic, immensely talented, genius personality. She worshipped his great musical gift, and her biggest desire was to be his Muse, his Beatrice. She sacrificed everything to make this dream of hers come true.

 

Marie sat down at the pianoforte, gingerly opening its polished lid, and placing her small hands on the black and white keyboard. She knew and could have executed a couple of pieces but she didn’t want to. The mere idea of his long, delicate, sensitive, tapered fingers touching these very keys, which were now below her own hands, made her feel the warmth deep inside. She closed her eyes and indulged herself in the recollection of his gentle touch to her naked skin…no, these memories will only make their forced parting even more unbearable.

”I have to distract myself from such thoughts, at least until evening comes, and he returns.” Marie commanded herself firmly.

 

On some of reflecting, she at last decided to go and have a light breakfast somewhere, besides a little walk will definitely do her no harm. After combing her hair and getting changed into a simple but lovely blue dress, Marie went outside, taking an umbrella with her. Only heavy dark clouds, autumn drizzle and sharp freezing wind greeted her. But to Marie’s own amazement her mood changed strikingly. Watching the red and yellow leaves whirling widely in the wind, as if playing into some unknown games, breathing with the fresh humid air full of scent of fading flowers and rain, made Marie feel strangely joyous. The somberness of decaying nature suited her mood perfectly, rising her spirits fast.

 

After having had a bite at one of the small restaurants, Marie wandered for some time along the stony crooked streets, losing herself in the diverse crowd. She became invisible: no one of those busy people paid any attention to her nor showed the slightest inappropriate interest. They saw only a young woman who radiated pure beauty, innocence and chastity. Marie smiled to herself bitterly, had they only known what she had done they wouldn’t look at her with such sincere benevolence and affability. Even her striking appearance wouldn’t soften their harsh censure and glances of accusation, because all of them were living according to the stupid society’s prejudices. These miserable fools would never be able to feel the true love, to cherish and to protect it till the last heartbeat.

 

In the lilac twilights Marie returned home, frozen and disappointed, her disordered cheerless thoughts in total confusion. She threw wet umbrella into an empty corner of the anteroom and entered the bedroom willing to undress the damp dress which had some tiny stains of mud on it. Shivering from cold, Marie finally managed to unlace the corset. She looked at the clock ticking on the wall – it was half past seven already. The darkness was falling quickly bringing the subconscious sense of fear and uneasiness. The dead silence of the solitary apartment oppressed Marie. She lighted two beeswax candles which made whimsical shadows dance and wriggle on the bare walls. She prayed for his soon return. Only in the protective embrace of his strong arms she will find consolation and pacification. Until then Marie decided to take a hot bath, quiet purling of water always soothed her in a way. She took one of the candles and went to the bathroom, treading lightly on her tiptoes as if she was not absolutely alone. She relaxed comfortably in the violet-scented water, which gave her a pleasant sensation of tranquility. All her worries and tiresome thoughts were being washed away by its calming soothe.

 

Afterwards, Marie dressed into the black silky peignoir, which suited her very much and outlined the whiteness of her tender skin. She seated herself at the table and started to wait, her distance glance fixed on the flickering flame of the lonely candle. At long last, she heard light painfully familiar footsteps. There was no doubt it was him, her pulse fastened from gladness and anticipation. The key in the door’s lock turned and he entered the anteroom, leaving the coldness and moroseness of the autumn twilights behind the closed door.

Marie threw herself into his arms:

“Oh, Franz, at last you are home!”

 

She ran her hand through his thick light-brown hair, damp from rain, peering at his handsome delicate chiseled features. He pressed herself to him ardently. Their lips met, and Marie wished the kiss would never end. After several precious moments they reluctantly withdrew from each other. Only now Marie noticed that his thin black frock coat was completely drenched. She took him by the hand and dragged into the living-room immediately, urging to get changed into some dry warm clothes.

 

”Good Lord, you’ll catch a fever. I’ll go and warm up some mulled wine. ”

 

Finally, they settled themselves comfortably on the sofa, covered with several rugs, drinking heady spicy wine. Marie looked at him intently; she couldn’t get enough of his appearance. It indeed was remarkable and awe-inspiring: so fragile yet powerful, emanating enchanting attractiveness, there was something indescribably charming, but at the same time, enigmatically demonical about him. Since the first time she cast a look at him, she realized she was lost. At the sight of his piercing expressive sea-green eyes, his flawless marmoreal pale skin, tall excessively thin frame which in fact concealed quite a remarkable strength, Marie was seized with admiration, enslaved with longing. His influence over her had no boundaries: his fatal transcendental charismatic personality captured her very self. She was told that many people, after meeting him just once were never able to forget that experience: his supernatural talent, exquisite manner to conduct himself with graceful dignity and grandeur, innate sense of pride, nobleness and self-reliance were supplemented with sensitive, passionate, fiery, troubled soul of an artist. He was an intellectual, easily infatuated person possessing lively wit always aspiring to new creative explorations and spiritual heights.

 

Marie blinked, his deep voice returning her to reality.

 

“I have some good news. Today I’ve received a letter from Ewald Reihner, the chairman of Musical Conservatoire of Geneva, in which he asked me to organize a pianoforte class. He assured that there would be no lack of interest or eagerness. He also added that such a prominent and outstanding musician as I would return the former glory to their, unfortunately, not a very popular establishment. In an hour I was already at his study. He turned out to be a well-educated, open-hearted man with pleasant manners. He confessed being my great admirer and begged to accept his suggestion. After an hour and a half of discussion, during which all of the terms and conditions had been arranged I became an honorary member of Swiss Musical Society and from tomorrow on I shall teach in the Musical Conservatoire of Geneva.”

 

Marie obviously saw that Franz was delighted with this opportunity and on her part congratulated him wholeheartedly, asking:

 

“And how much will you be paid for your teaching?”

 

“Nothing. I’ll give lessons for free, for the benefit of the Conservatoire.” He replied in a calm and confident voice.

    

Marie’s eyes widened with astonishment. She could hardly believe her ears. Her obnoxious reaction caused by his statement didn’t surprise Franz:

 

“I knew you wouldn’t be too happy about it, but that is my will.”

 

Marie felt really annoyed: “You should have asked my opinion on this matter, because it would undoubtedly affect my own expenses too. Haven’t you thought about that? Since when are you into charity, hm?”

 

Her sarcastic manner offended him and he replied to Marie sharply:

 

“And you are all about the money… It is the only subject that truly interests you. Perhaps, you are so frustrated because you won’t be able to afford yourself a new innumerable fashionable hat and that is of course a matter of life and death…”

 

His words put Marie out of her temper.

 

“How dare you mocking me… ”

 

Franz interrupted her feeling irritated, his pride wounded:

 

“Oh, I beg your pardon, desperately hoping for you bestowing forgiveness upon such a worthless, miserable man, as I am…Indeed, what such a noble, gorgeous, absolutely aristocratic regal Countess does at this unpretentious lodgings, condescending to conversation with a mere mortal, just a poor musician, who…”

 

Not fully realizing her actions, Marie slapped him. Franz touched slightly the red burning mark, which started to appear slowly on his pale cheek, his glacial intense gaze fixed on Marie. She didn’t look away, her whole countenance shinning from the mixture of agitation, resentment and challenge. The next moment, brief as the twinkling of an eye, she felt his arms around her. His mouth closed over hers, not as much kissing as _devouring_ her. She couldn’t breath. At first Marie tried to resist but soon she let her body relax and reached her arms up around his neck, returning his kiss with every ounce of burning passion in her heart. She felt a little bit giddy, crushed by onslaught of his tongue, willing only to give in to the desire, which was building fast inside the very core of hers. She knew she needed him right now so desperately, trembling slightly as his long slender fingers started to unlace deftly her silky black peignoir. Marie bit her vermillion lips, which were a little swollen from his indefatigable kisses.

 

With every cell of her body she felt sharply the warmth of his breath on her velvet-like long neck. She knew that at times he could be leisurely tender if he wanted to. She held her breath, feeling his insatiable passionate kisses on her collar-bone and shoulders, his hands now coupling her breasts, caressing, teasing with seductive touch of his. Marie sobbed softly as he started to suck her painfully sensitive rosy nipples, biting them slightly. Her excitement was beyond measure, she knew he felt the same way too, feeling his hard arousal pressing her underbelly.

 

Marie thought that such a wild desire was worth of any sacrifice, including her well-bread modesty. She grasped his hair at the back of his head, forcing him to look straight into her face, absorbing the sight before her: his slightly parted delicately outlined lips, refined features of his pale complexion, now were flushed by the violent need; she noticed the mark previously left by her hand on his cheek…But that didn’t matter anymore — there was no trace of former offence in his searing gaze — only a devastating, desperate longing for her.

 

_Sweet Lord, he was beautiful._

 

Marie made a daring move of which she did not realize she was capable of, sliding her small subtle hand down his slender frame between his tights. Her shy airy touch provoked an immediate response from him: his hands clutching at her shoulders, his breath noticeably quickening. Marie continued her ministrations more boldly, increasing the pressure every now and then, varying the rhythm of her strokes from teasingly light to avidly possessing. Soon he started to gasp for air frequently, with his eyes half-closed, but Marie didn’t even think of stopping, moreover the mere idea that he was fully in her power, wholly dependent on her malicious intent or condescending mercy, excited her the way second to none.

 

She made him lay down on his back, leaning on the sofa. Marie caught a glimpse of sincere surprise mixed with fastidious anticipation in his eyes. She knew he always wanted this, never daring to ask for such a blunt step from her. Marie bent over him, whispering quietly into his ear:

 

“You want me to do _it_ , don’t you? We both know it…Now say it. ”

 

His only response was short surrendering “yes”, as he shivered involuntarily, feeling her hot breath on his abdomen. Closing her eyes, Marie started to lick his hard length slowly, as if teasing, while listening intently to every sound he was making. His breathing at once became fast, heavy and chaotic; overwhelmed by the pleasure, he wanted more. His long tapered fingers which merely mingled with her fair luxuriant hair before, now settled themselves firmly at the back of her head, forcing her to engulf him fully. Marie willingly obeyed, eliciting a muffled cry of from him. She found the appropriate pace without any difficulties, being guided unmistakably by his restrained groans and soft sobs of delight. Soon enough she made him beg her to stop this exquisite torture. Instead Marie doubled her efforts, now sucking restlessly, making the pleasure almost unbearable. Her most precious reward was his helpless moans, which he couldn’t suppress anymore. He even tried to move away once but she held his slim tights stubbornly, lavishing him with her savage caresses, which had almost took him over the edge.

 

While still feeling acutely his taste on her moist lips, Marie straddled him, letting him slide inside her completely. She felt dizzy from excitement, her heart leaping out of her heavy-panting chest. Marie looked down at him, starting her painfully slow movements: his succulent crimson lips were parted, sea-green eyes, shaded by the long black lashes, were dimmed by the obscurity of lust, damp sensitive skin so velvety to the touch. Settling a steady rhythm, she let him plunge into her as deep as possible each time, devouring him without remain. He placed his hands on her hips, thrusting up into her roughly, increasing the pace frantically, hardly able to control himself any longer. Marie threw her head back, arching her back to meet him every single time. All coherent thoughts were now leaving her, the intensity of pleasure driving her mad; there existed only severe ecstasy of uttermost confluence. The whirlwind of sheer passion elevated her straight to heaven. She was on the verge of losing consciousness, wave of climax crushing upon her devastatingly, achingly delightful, overpowering with its raw force.

 

Marie was trembling; still oblivious to space and time when she felt him coming hard inside her, moaning loudly, reaching his own climax, only several moments later. Breathing heavily, they lied interweaved, exhausted and sweaty after fervent lovemaking. The vague scent of sex was floating in the air. Having thrown her arm around his waist, Marie put her head on his breast, listening to his still quickened heartbeat.

 

She wished this moment of shared intimacy between them would last forever. Completely consumed by love, they were so close now, cut off from the outside world. Only the two of them against all odds and ruthlessness of fate, which seemed to whisper into her ear a phrase which was making her feel cold inside so often:

 

_“You were not meant to be together.”_

Sighing, Marie closed her eyes tiredly, thinking that for the moment being, nothing really mattered to her except the familiar warmth of his body and the gradual calming of his breathing, as he was falling into the invisible arms of Morpheus peacefully at her side.

 

**


End file.
